Neville looked up at Grayson, cue resting against his shoulder.
He blinked innocently and said, "Yeah. Beginner's luck."
At the side table, Julius leaned toward Pete and Chronos, his voice pitched just loud enough for their ears only. "Is it, though?"
Pete shook his head slowly. "If he sinks the last two, that's not luck anymore."
The eight ball still waited in its corner.
Neville circled the table once, assessing, then positioned himself without hesitation.
The cue slid between his fingers, and he struck.
The remaining solid found its pocket with a muted thump, and the cue ball rolled to a stop in perfect position for the eight.
The final shot was anticlimactic. With a gentle tap and a controlled roll, the eight ball dropped into the corner pocket.
Neville set the cue down on the rail and looked at Grayson.
Grayson looked back.
"I need a drink," Julius announced as he stood up from the side table like a man who had just lost a bet.
"Bring me one," Bryan said.
